


245 - Making Out

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Mini Fic, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: An original mini fic about: Ah… making out, Bondy and Van. That's it.





	245 - Making Out

"Baby, I'm sorry but I gotta get this verse out. Gimme ten, 'kay? A quarter, tops. Go sit with Bond. He'll give you attention," Van said, kissing your head quickly and sitting back against the wall. 

The lounge room had become a makeshift studio that served the purpose of housing writing geniuses, rather than recording any sound.

Van and Bondy were writing the guitar out for a bunch of songs. Van was in the zone; you could probably strip in front of him and he'd still send you to sit against the other wall with Bondy. 

You huffed and sat next to Bondy. The room was annoyingly quiet, save for the scratching of both their pencils on paper and their guitars playing similar notes at dissimilar times. When Bondy didn't acknowledge you, you wriggled closer to him so your side was pressed against his.

"What 'cha after, babe?" he asked, not looking at you.

"Why does Van love the band more than he loves me?"

"Because the band is his baby. It's his gift to his parents, to his family, to the world. It's symbolic of hard work and graftin' and everything he believes about the world," Bondy replied too seriously, still not looking up from his lined sheet paper. He was too focused on the task to answer with humour or sensitivity to your sooky mood.

"Meant to tell me he don't," you mumbled.

"Sorry. He don't," Bondy said, a smirk on his face. He dropped the pencil and put his guitar down. "Sorry, Y/N. What's wrong, huh? Not getting enough love at home?"

It was a comment meant to bait Van and you both looked over at him. He'd not been paying any attention at all. You pouted again and huffed.

"Just want him to like, notice me," you said.

"You're kiddin', right? You're all he talks about. Does he even see his mates anymore? Or is it just you and the daydreaming of baby names and shit?" Bondy asked. 

You laughed, smug. You knew very well that Van gave you more than enough attention. You were his whole wide world and in all seriousness, you weren't jealous of the band. You were just in an annoying mood.

"I just want to make out," you said, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back against the wall dramatically.

"Here that, McCann? Your girlfriend needs a snog," Bondy said across the room.

Van looked up, his face still disinterested in the interaction between you and Bondy. He shrugged. "You do it. I almost got this hook perfect," and he looked back down. Bondy laughed.

"Van!" you squealed. "I'll do it! I will kiss him!"

Van didn't respond, so you narrowed your eyes and turned back to Bondy.

"Think he was jokin', babe," he said.

"Wasn't. Need ten more minutes. Keep her busy," Van muttered.

With no more permission needed, you launched yourself onto Bondy's lap. He was sitting with his legs out in front of him. You straddled him, legs folded either side. He smirked as you wriggled down.

"Play chicken?" you asked. Bondy nodded and put his hands on your hips, pulling you in closer to him.

You leaned down and lightly pecked his lips, then quickly looked over at Van. Nothing. He wasn't even watching out the corner of his eyes. Frowning, you turned back to Bondy and kissed him properly. You lost yourself a little bit in it. He kissed differently to Van. It was strange to feel someone else's tongue against yours after belonging to Van for so long. When you broke apart you and Bondy giggled at each other.

"Van, I kissed him," you announced, looking over.

"Ah-huh," he said. "Five minutes, baby,"

"I swear to God, I'll kiss him for the whole five minutes. I'll let him give me one of them hickeys and everything,"

"Yep, 'kay."

Back to Bondy, he shrugged. "My part's finished," he said motioning to his guitar. "Got five to spare."

Bondy bit down harder on your neck than Van ever would and it made you gasp. It was an unexpected happy sound that made Van look up. Your eyes met his and he winked at you, then continued on the last line of music.

"Alright. Done!" he declared, standing up and shaking his legs out. You sat up straight on Bondy and looked over at Van. "Come on then," he said.

"Oh, now you want me, huh? Now kissing me is a good enough activity?" you replied in a tone laced heavy with sass and a touch of bitterness.

"Yep. Up," he ordered, walking over and taking your hands. You let him pull you up and into his arms. Van kissed you hard, territoriality. "Taste different," he mumbled into you as the kiss stopped.

"Taste like your friend," you replied, resting your head on Van's chest and hugging him tightly. You looked over at Bondy, who was checking his own work before collecting Van's from the floor and checking his too.

They both seem remarkably unaffected and relaxed with the events that had transpired. As you followed them into the kitchen for drinks, you sucked in your bottom lip and chewed. Sitting at the kitchen table, watching them banter about the new album and other people's shitty bands, you were in love with the moment.

"Can this be a thing now?" you asked out loud, interrupting their conversation.

"What?" Van asked.

"When you're writing together or if you're busy on the phone doin' an interview, Bondy can… babysit me," you said with an excitable bounce. Van laughed.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever. Long as it's my bed you find your way back to, go nuts," he said. He didn't really mean it, of course. It sounded like a declaration of an open relationship, but it was specific permission to kiss one person while in the field of vision of him. But, that was a lot.

"Just can't fall in love with me," you said to Bondy as you pulled your legs up onto the kitchen chair and rested your head on your knees. He snorted in response.

"Not a problem, Y/N. Love ya. Think you're perfect for him. But you fuckin' annoying sometimes," he replied.

Van laughed too much and you glared at him. Another wink and you were healed of hurt.

So, it was a thing. A strange and private thing, but an entirely loving thing. Maybe it would grow into more. Maybe it would fizzle out. Who knows? All of that was inconsequential. The important thing was Van, and Bondy, and you, and whatever that meant.


End file.
